Insanity as a writing exercise

December 4, 2008

After last time you know—you know, don’t you?—that these “writing exercises”, as such, are dangerous?

Okay, here we go.

    Writing Exercise:

    Write a short scene that involves the following elements: public indecency, a pasta sauce jar, women’s pantyhose, pepper spray, and a Jack Russell terrier.

And, yes, the obvious questions apply, just like last time.

“Say what?”


“Who the …?”

“Now, hang on just a minute! What kind of web site …?”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. Real original. Perverts and the mockery of prudishness. Where do I come up with this stuff?

Right. I hear you.

But you also know, don’t you? You know I’m not making this up, right?

Moral of the story: Truth is stranger than fiction, because fiction must, eventually, make sense.

Alternate moral of the story: Beware of no-stopping zones.

At any rate, this time I’ll put the story below the jump. You have, without a doubt, been warned.

A man caught near Nobbys Beach with his penis in a pasta sauce jar led police on a 20 kmh car chase, Newcastle Local Court heard yesterday.

Police drew their weapons when they suspected Keith Roy Weatherley, 46, was armed.

Instead, they found him partially clothed with his genitals in a jar, a police statement said.

Weatherley, of Promontory Way, North Arm Cove, attracted attention parked in a no-stopping zone before noon on October 26.

Police believed Weatherley was doing something with his hands in his lap and thought that he might have a weapon.

Weatherley saw the police and drove away, despite them flashing their lights.

The chase lasted five to 10 minutes, with a top speed of just 20 kmh, before Weatherley was stopped at Centenary Drive, Newcastle. He refused to leave the car.

Four officers used batons and capsicum spray to remove him.

They found a 750-millilitre jar around his penis and noted that Weatherley attempted to continue “pleasuring himself in between bouts of wrestling”.

A search of his car uncovered pornography, a home-made sex aid, women’s stockings and a Jack Russell terrier ….

Anyway, um … yeah. It’s been, what, six months since the last time I creeped you all out? Be thankful, please; I spared you the one about the vicar and the potato, right?




  1. Eeewwww. So… um… was there pasta sauce in the jar? If so, double that “eeewwww”.

  2. So… um… was there pasta sauce in the jar?

    If there wasn’t before ….

    (And if you really want to take that joke further, click here. But, again … consider yourself warned.)

  3. An odor wafts off the calf of a women’s strained pantyhose, carrying with it the unmistakable spice known only to spent jars of Ragu spaghetti sauce — Hearty Roasted Garlic with Meat. Rocket Dog picks up the scent and likes it. He releases himself from the Harley Davidson collar clasp tethering him to his blind Master.

    Unleashed, Rocket Dog wends his way between the tweeded legs of those waiting for a bus to ferry them home. The cuffs of most of the pants gathered are frayed at the crease off the heel, crumpled, worn by a cluster of faces pinched with worry and regret, blithely feigning conviction before the sinking sun so that all around them might never suspect the true plight of their flailing livelihoods.

    They don’t notice the Jack Russell wending its way between them; fail to recognize the silent resignation clearly evident in the sunken shoulders rampant around them.

    Rocket Dog spots the woman’s unshaven legs up ahead, sealed tautly in cheap nylon skin — the source of the scent.

    Rocket Dog’s heart thumps deep. His nose goes cold and wet. He slips between scuffed Doc Martens and plants his rump up high, nose pushed low, a lick ready to launch.

    A thumbering drone is heard from above and to the right. Dumb-Bug, a red beetle, bonks across the gauntlet of fidgeting pedestrians in clumsy effort to reach the source of aromatic allure.

    Rocket Dog leaps as Dumb-Bug dunks in the last, fitful instant…

    (To be continued in “The Mostly Curious Incidents of Rocket Dog and Dumb-Bug”)

  4. A beautiful, haunting tale of marinara madness. I laughed, I cried, it became a part of me.

  5. Gayle, what can I say other than I love your new headshot. Rocks!

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